My Poem “Thaw”

The air is cold…
There is ice all around…
I am steeping out,
I am breaking the mould…
I refuse to stay in one place
and forever remain gravity bound…
I will not allow fear to take hold…
I will put one foot in front of the other
and walk towards my destiny
that has been foretold…
Soon the ice will thaw
and again I will see the path
upon which I am fated to walk…
There is no way of turning back,
there is no time for talk…
The essence of time is to be fleeting…
The reason of memory
is in order to be reminded of life’s meaning…
I do not fear the future,
nor do I fear this shining icy floor…
One step at a time,
I will keeping going
and walk within the light of the sun
as it slowly but surely transforms
and returns all islands of ice
back into the air from whence they came
in one almighty thaw.

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My Poem ‘The Shroud of Destiny’

The shroud of destiny…
the mysterious cloak of fate…
the lasting spirit that will walk
the Earth one day with the last of humanity…
the drape of infinity as dark
as the matter that veils
the wonders of outer-space…
the personification of all life
that can be seen waiting and contemplating
before a single wick of candlelight…
the one who knows the ultimate fate of the living
and where people go when they die…
they who have no face,
but who still have a form…
they who beckon from the end of days,
and who silently warn…
I have seen them…
I have stood and looked at them,
and I have been mesmerized by them…
I have wondered what they were thinking,
and what they would say to me if they could…
they who do not move when they are in contemplation –
and yet being in their presence
and seeing the darkness that covers them is enough
to bring out so many emotions and questions…
Destiny knows me… Destiny knows us all…
Destiny knows the days gone by, and the days yet to be…
Destiny knows so much, and Destiny says so much –
without even having to say a word…
you would think that staring into Destiny
would be a frightening thing for anyone to do,
but I personally believe that Destiny
is a silent teacher with so much to teach…
Destiny too has a destiny,
and until the day comes when they see themselves
in the mirror of time
I do not think they will ever speak…
as soon as I saw Destiny for the first time
I was inspired to write about them
in the voice of my gift: poetry –
and there they will stay
and walk the spaces between my words,
and so they will shadow my footsteps,
until the day when I turn around
and I accept and I wear
the shroud of my destiny.

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“Destiny is always in the dark.”

My Poem ‘The Messenger’

Everybody is here on this Earth,
everybody is a part of this world,
for a reason – but, sometimes,
most of the time, more often than not,
people have no idea why…
I, however, know exactly why I am here,
why I am alive, and what my reason to live is
and will be until the day I die:
I am a messenger, but not a messenger
that you may expect,
I do not look like any “messenger”
that I have seen in my life –
I do not wear a uniform,
and what I does not always require me to drive…
I suppose I am like an old-fashioned telephone receiver,
and when I receive a very important call
with a very important message to be delivered to someone
I answer it without question or hesitation
and I go to pass on what I have been asked to deliver.

I never know who the sender is,
I never know who the recipient will be –
I only know a face, sometimes I even know a first-name;
I do not know what the message I am delivering is
sometimes until the moment that I deliver it…
I don’t even know where I am going
until I see the signs showing me the way
to where I need to get to –
it’s like I am painting a picture of something
that hasn’t happened yet as I take each and every step,
and it is only at the end of my delivery
that I can see the complete picture in its entirety,
like stepping back and looking at a canvas
newly-framed and mounted on the wall of a gallery.

I have delivered more messages than I can remember:
a young man sitting on a bus…
I remember telling him something
that his older sister wanted him to know:
that even though she had run away from home she still loved him
and that they would see each-other again one day –
some of the messages are so emotional to deliver,
I cannot help but break-down in tears
as I give them their message,
but in the same breath I love being the bearer of hope
and that sometimes invisible and silent hand
upon a person’s shoulder
telling them that every-thing is going to be alright.

I am not sure why I was chosen…
I am not sure who it was who chose me…
I am not sure if I am doing God’s work…
I am not sure what happens next
after I reach out, on behalf of someone else,
to another person…
I am not sure if my delivery of the message
is delivered in the same way as was intended –
most of the time I can deliver
what the message is with a look
and with a burst of thought,
like I am the conductor
of some kind of psychic-electricity;
sometimes I just let the message do all the work
and I just watch from behind my own eyes
while my body acts as if it has been possessed
by some kind of magical curse.

To most people who meet me,
I am nothing more than a stranger;
to a higher-power,
I am the one whom they chose
to be their psychic-amplifier;
to the sender of the messages that I send,
I am a link to someone who they want to talk to
without having to use their own voice –
I am their secret-teller,
I am one of their story-tellers…
I am here, I am there,
to be close and near to someone,
so that I can be who from a small child
I was always destined to be:
‘The Messenger’.

My Poem ‘The Gunslinger’

Waking up even before the sun has risen,
getting up and putting on his jeans and his boots,
the Gunslinger always goes to the open window
and stares at the horizon…
watching the sky start to slowly
look like the burning ember
of a timeless celestial fire,
the Gunslinger’s heart overflows
with an intense desire –
because he knows that he is getting ever-closer
to the centre of the universe
that lies where The Dark Tower of reality
stands and casts a shadow in his direction
for the Gunslinger to follow.

The Gunslinger carries many scars…
the Gunslinger has had more than one tussles
in more than one towns and bars…
the Gunslinger does what he does
because he is being guided by
the hands of fate upon his shoulders…
the Gunslinger knew, even as a child,
that he was meant to do something
monumentally important,
and that belief and that feeling
grew steadily stronger
the more the years flew by
and the Gunslinger got older.

He was a keen student of the past…
he was a man who had learned the hard way
that if you want to survive
what life sometimes throws at you
you have got to think, learn, and act fast…
he was someone who had been taught
that respect was one of the greatest virtues
that anyone could remember and put into practice…
he was already some-what of a legend in his own right,
and he was almost as elusive
as that of the sunken island that was Atlantis.

The Gunslinger drunk life as if it were whiskey…
the Gunslinger embraced change
as if he were holding the body of a woman…
the Gunslinger was a poet
but he never in his life
wrote a single word of poetry…
the Gunslinger had been waking up
for as long as he could remember
knowing that he had a destiny to fulfill
that he could not yet fully-understand.

The Gunslinger was real,
and yet the stuff of dreams;
the Gunslinger loved a good meal,
but he hungered more to see
something of the world
but which felt not-of-his-world
that he had imagined
but had not yet seen;
the Gunslinger knew that where he was
was but a way-station to where he was going;
the Gunslinger was inspiring others,
and he was being followed wherever he went
without his knowing.

He had always thought of his weapon
as but an extension of his own arm…
he had always considered his lightning-fast draw
as his greatest gift…
he had always used his finely-honed instincts
to keep himself and those he loved
from coming to harm…
finding the one place in the entire world
where he could take off his hat
and unbuckle his gun-holster
and lay-down his revolver
is what he had always wished.

And as the rose before him,
and as the dawn-chorus called to him,
and as his trigger-finger started to quiver,
and as the heat began to darken his skin,
he knew that he was reason
for all things and for everything…
and without even blinking an eye
he smiled and then prepared to head-out,
saddle-up, and race towards
that which would give him
the reason he was seeking
why for his entire life
he had always been “The Gunslinger”.

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Inspired by ‘The Dark Tower – The Gunslinger’ by Stephen King

My Poem ‘The Matador’

I have always wondered
what goes through a Matador’s mind
when he is standing in a bull-ring
and a bull is running towards him
completely intoxicated,
incensed, and blood-blind…
they can’t move, they can’t run…
they have countless people
sitting in a crowd all-around and above,
and every second their heart is beating
so fast that they feel like
they are standing in the centre
of a mist of blood –
who would not be scared?
how could anyone in their right mind
not feel fear when a huge animal
with big horns is running at full-speed
directly at you?
How could anyone not scream or swear?
How could anyone, why would anyone,
choose to do what they do
knowing that one day there
may come a day when the bull
might decide your fate for you?

It is all about respect…
it is all about understanding…
it is all about being your gods-honest best…
it is all about acting without thinking…
it is all about giving yourself
over to your instincts…
it is all about participating in a dance…
it is all about misdirecting, entertaining,
facing something, and being a part of something
that feels almost mythic…
it is all about going into a trance
and seeing a million things happening
all-at-once from a single glance…
and miraculously the matador moves,
the matador survives,
the matador is not pierced by the bulls horns,
nor trampled on by the bulls heavy hoofs…
the matador lives to fight another day,
while the bull awakes as if it has just
been awaken by the new days rays of sunlight.

The matador was born to do what he does…
the matador does what he does
to feed the hunger deep inside him…
this matador was definitely born
under the constellation of Taurus…
the matador does not hate the bull in any way –
he knows that he must be
who he was always meant to be,
and fulfill his destiny…
he knows that he must roll the dice
and use his ‘Capote de paseo’ cape
so as to play and win.

The matador does not do what he does
for fame, for fortune, or for applause –
the matador does what he does
because the bull is his life
and his life is the bull…
he does what he does,
he dresses himself in his suit of light
because to him he is acting out god’s will…
he does what he does because he is The Matador.

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My Poem ‘When the sun shines I smile’

When the sun shines
I smile, because I know that the light
that I embrace and I am energized by
was sent by you…
when the sun rises
I know that it wont be long
until I see your beautiful face come into view…
when the sun burns in the sky
I feel the part of you inside me
reaching out for the part of me inside you…
when the sun lights-up the world around me
my heart leaps out of my chest
and takes my soul with it
so that I may see you in your dreams,
and we may have a late-night/early-morning
secret rendezvous.

No moments could ever compare
to the times that we spend together –
we both have waited
and we are still waiting for each other,
but there has been and there always will be
a divine-will drawing us and holding us together;
I now know why for my entire life
I have been following a path of fallen white feathers…
each and every-one has been leading me
in one direction: to you,
and no matter what you say
I know that your secret-identity
is that you are an angel of heaven.

Some things in life we choose,
and some things in life are planned;
some days we might want to try
an out-of-the-ordinary choice of transport,
but when it comes to where you are going,
to whom, and why, then we can all rest-assured
that whomever we are meant to be with
will always be there and waiting for us
when we land.

Anything that has repercussions…
anything that when dropped into an ocean
or into a pool of water
creates ripple-effects…
anything that creates a momentary
life-changing interruption…
anything that seizes and overcomes your senses…
anything that beats and does not stop beating
is only comparable in its importance
to that of the love and the heart of an angel…
I love and I am loved by an angel,
and to me there is nothing and no-one on Earth
who could ever be more perfect.

The sun is still shining,
and I am still smiling;
angels walk and fly among us –
they want us to believe in them,
just as they believe in us;
when the sun shines on you,
and you cast a shadow like that of a sun-dial,
stare into the light and then close your eyes quickly –
and the face which you see flashing before you eyes
will be the object of your heart’s desire,
and at that moment imagine like I do
that you are with your angel
who always makes you smile.

My Poem ‘In and Out’

Art is in my blood…
I have been making art
since before I knew that I could;
inspiration has been flooding my brain
since before I knew that I had
such a magical world within me
called “imagination”;
art is a part of everybody’s day,
but sometimes to find art’s true meaning
you have to stop looking
and allow yourself to embrace
the gift of pure-procrastination.

I believe in destiny –
which means that I believe
that everything that we all do
we do because we are meant to;
I believe in karma –
which means that I believe
that actions and intentions
have consequences,
and we should all try to focus
on the light in our life
and not the shadows
that want to pull us into the dark;
I believe in true love –
which means that I believe
that no matter who you meet and when
there is a heart out there
that you are meant to
give your all to,
that belongs to someone
who has always been meant to be with you
and has always been meant to love you;
I believe in humanity –
which means that I believe
that no matter how many differences exist right now
there will one day come a time
when we will see ourselves
in all our forms as what we are:
a masterpiece of form, function, and art.

Hope has taught me to stay optimistic,
even when I am surrounded by impossibilities;
poetry has taught me how to ride out a storm,
and to survive and understand life
through the magic of language and words;
imagination has taught me
that the number of worlds and realities out there
yet to be discovered totals in the realms of infinity;
love has taught me that the most incredible
and breath-taking adventure of a life-time
awaits everybody who has yet to be intoxicated
by the timeless obsession and addiction that has no cure.

We all breathe in,
and we all breathe out…
we all have things that we need,
and we all have people whom we could never live without…
we all feel inspired,
and we all sometimes feel pains of doubt…
but the most important thing to remember
and to act-out is to not stop feeling
and expressing ourselves,
because that is the reason that we are all born
with the senses that we are born with –
learning how to use those senses
to their fullest is what life is all about.

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